Carson Tidwell

In a lowly tavern, music from grand halls, echoes
through the dim torch-lit streets.
The violins hum a fetching tune
Bringing together young and old patrons
...

Surrounded by groves of dark oak and evergreen.
Rusted and silent, the piano sheds like a snake.
The blue jay takes its strings to construct star-bright nests.
White-tailed squirrels sunbathe atop its peeling black lid.
...

Ghost like; she dances; an ol' ballet. Each movement
measured, like notes written by Bach. The slow twirl
of her French braid unraveling, reflects above the mirror
of a violet hughed lake. Locked away under blue veils
...

Hurricane sheets,
splashing cracked dishes high.
Drops of black tea staining cream carpet,
as a whirlpool of alphabet soup swirls
...

When the sun's light eclipses the stars,
their violet shadows spill over
the mountain scape.
There, below, tucked between folds of earth and stone,
...

Tumbleweed winds brush through the blossomed grove of sakura trees.
Tall buildings painted with bright reds and whites crispen
under the noon sun.
Mahogany bridges arc
...

A breeze flicks off a few sparks
from soft-spoken orange tipped coals.
The warmth won't last forever.
But for now, it's not so bad.
...

Standing at the edge of New York's skyline,
its apartments alight with familial warmth.
Though he feels only cold sleet pelting against his
white collared shirt and the tie tightening
...

A smoky sky left the faucet on
unleashing a torrential storm so harsh that
the trees cried beneath suffocating
grey waves.
...